


in the middle

by ChezPillow (PillowLord)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 21:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PillowLord/pseuds/ChezPillow
Summary: Hank would do anything to have his son back. Luckily the spirit he's dealing with is as harmless as Casper the Friendly Ghost.





	in the middle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tangela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangela/gifts).



Connor goes through his routine, slightly modified. He plunges his home into a deep cold. He pushes everything off the table with a wave of his hand. He screams. He lifts a box and dumps its contents onto the ground. Books crash onto the floor.

The new inhabitant curses.

The books are blurry, but he can recognize something familiar to them; many share a distinct design and stamp that mark the book’s purpose. His hand is steady as he goes to lift one up. His fingers pass through it; a sensation like pins and needles creeps along.

With an annoyed huff, he concentrates on one of the books before attempting to grasp it again. He rips the book into existence. Next, he pulls up a chair and takes a seat. With a wave of his hand, he puts things in order. He faintly hears squawking. Connor thumbs the pages, taking a cursory glance.

His instinct is right: the books are about magic. The one he picked up is specifically on necromancy.

Mustering his focus, he coalesces in front of the tenant. Connor walks a circle around him. The man stands still under Connor’s scrutiny. Connor briefly takes in the man’s sharp features that contrasts with his girth before re-focusing.

The man has a distinctive ring tan – taken it off recently. Partner is dead? No. He wouldn’t take off his ring if he’s trying to bring back his significant other. More likely divorced. Hair and beard are shaggy, overgrown from what once must have been a much neater style. He stands taller than Connor, even when slouching. Whatever loss he suffered is recent, but some time has passed. Divorced, desperation, and a dead loved one.

Dread fill his lungs, and he struggles to take breaths he doesn’t need. It’s all conjuncture. He can be wrong.

The words tumble out of his mouth, ”Your child. You’re trying to bring back your child.”

“What of it?” The man raises a brow, his arms crossed over his chest. Defensive.

”I am of no use for necromancy.”

”You can tear things from the living domain into the dead right?” Connor does not respond, so the man continues, “Can’t you do the opposite then?”

”That’s crazy. It can’t be done.” Connor stuffs his hand in his pocket, locating his quarter. He rubs the edges of it with his thumb. The man is the first one to buy this place because it is haunted. Specifically, because Connor is here. What a strange thought.

”Have you ever tried before?”

“No.”

“Can’t you try?” he prods.

”I’m not going to try that on a child,” his voice rising in indignation.

“Hank,” introducing himself and seemingly conceding.

“You’re not going to push?”

“I’ll find another way,” he shrugs, “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

He hesitates. Strange that Hank doesn’t try harder. Even if he does have backup plans. Hank clears his throat, drawing his attention back. “Connor. My name is Connor.”

“Well, Connor, nice to meet you. Can I stay?”

Connor frowns. “I can’t exactly dispute it. You did buy the property.”

He nods then walks right out of the house. Connor tilts his head in curiosity and follows him up to the doorway. Hank reaches into his car and gently picks up a bundle of blankets. As he gets closer, Connor can see a small boy, asleep, in the bundle.

“Had to check if you were okay first,” Hank explains, “The blanket allows me to hold him.”

Connor leaves before Hank tells him anymore, like the boy’s name. He settles in the room he claimed and pulls the door shut behind him. Bit by bit, he lets awareness slip from him, the closest thing to sleep for him.

–

“How long ago did he die?”

“Jesus.” Hank lowers the fire on the stove before turning to face him. “You don’t even know his name and yet you want to know when he died.”

Connor does not even attempt to look contrite. “Don’t you want to know when he’ll wake up?”

Hank sighs. “Cole died in October. Four months ago.”

“After nine months Cole will wake up – that would be in July then.”

Hank hums in response then returns to his cooking. Connor looks over his shoulder; he’s making pancakes.

“Make me pancakes.”

“No. You can’t even eat!” Hank waves a spatula at him.

Connor pouts. “You said it yourself – I can bring things in your world to mine.”

Hank rolls his eyes. Connor drops his focus on being corporal. Bored, he wanders off to see what Hank did with the place while he was gone. In the living room, there is a futon set up. On it, is Cole, wrapped in blankets, and blissfully asleep.

Connor does not have much of the dizzying double vision from having living realm things on top of his. Besides the tools in the kitchen, Hank had only set up the futon in the living room. Everything else is still in his boxes. He must have been tired from bringing them in. Or he’s not planning on staying for long. Connor dwells on the thought, turning it over. He will be alone again. Like he wants.

A clatter of dishes disrupt his thoughts. On the kitchen counter are two plates with pancakes. More time must have passed than he thought if Hank finished making ten pancakes already. With a mortal in the house, he shouldn’t drop his guard like he used to. He reappears by Hank’s side.

“Well? Are you just going to stare at the pancakes?” Hank asks.

Connor would flush if he knew how. He lost time again. It didn’t seem long. He tries to hide his disorientation. “Thank you, Hank.”

Connor grabs a beautiful china plate and a fork from his room. He reaches into the material world and rips one of the pancakes into his world. Hank gapes. Connor drops the pancake onto the plate and sits in the chair he left in the living room.

He carefully balances the plate as he takes a bite. Connor hums. It’s been so long since he has last eaten. A decade at least. Maybe more. Hank joins him at the table. He eats his pancake but is distracted by Connor.

“Maybe we can come to a mutual agreement?” Connor cuts another piece of the pancake.

“What.”

“You make me food and I can try to figure out some way to help your son.” He has no idea how to but he never had the incentive to try to look either.

Hank looks at him dumbly.

“Not a morning person?” Connor looks at the coffee Hank brought with him. He should have asked for a cup too.

“I thought you said you won’t experiment on a child.” Hank’s face has become guarded.

“We’ll start with small trials. I’m not going straight to Cole.” Connor smiles as an idea comes to him.

Connor places the plate atop his chair. He goes to his room and grabs a mug. He holds it atop the table.

Connor focuses on the mug and tries to push it into the material. He feels it push back in his hands. He realizes there is some sort of barrier that he needs to breach. Instead of changing the mug, he decides to try to create a rip to push the mug through.

“There.” The mug wobbles on the table. “Can you fill it with coffee please?”

Hank guffaws. He lifts the mug, and examines it. He rinses the cup at the sink before pouring coffee into it. “Food, huh?”

Connor steples his fingers. “I’ll continue to practice until I reach a reasonable level for a child. In return, you give me food.”

“It’s a deal.” Hank puts the mug down.

Connor converts the mug and takes a sip.

–

Hank was expecting some frightening monster. In a way, Connor is frightening, with his ability to move things with a thought or move things between worlds. But, for the most part, Connor is harmless. The spirit just wants to eat.

Thus, Hank thought Connor’s most common experiment would involve food. Oftentimes, Connor would disappear behind his bedroom and pick something out. True to his word, he starts with small items and gradually moves to larger ones. He practices once a day to create a rift big enough to push the item through.

It is always impressive to view it happen. An almost iridescent barrier that doesn’t quite shatter. Connor is rather accurate when he calls it ripping: the barrier rips like a piece of fabric, its edges fraying. Watching it mend is mesmerizing.

But the thing is, Connor doesn’t return the things he rips to their original state. They stay scattered on the floor. Hank tries to clean it up but Connor refuses to let him throw anything out. He directs Hank exactly how he wants the stuff arranged around the house. Hank finds it strangely endearing.

After his practice, Connor would sometimes pull Hank’s possessions to him. Hank no longer owns a tablet. It’s Connor’s now.

–

“Are you sure, Hank?” Connor bites his lip. “You can have Cole forever if he leave him like this.”

“I want to hold my son in my arms again. I want to see him grow up.”

Connor nods.

“Dad?” a familiar voice shouts out.

“It’s time, then.”

Together, they enter the living room. His son sits up, the blankets pooled around him.

Hank is frozen at the doorway. Connor goes to Cole first. He says something then takes Cole’s hand. Hank watches the familiar process of Connor creating a rip between worlds.

Cole take a hesitant step off the bed and through the rift. Cole’s grip is tight on Connor’s hand, his knuckles white. Hank finally finds the strength to move. His son is mostly through the rift; and Hank rushes to help him the rest of the way. He hugs his son’s middle and tries to pull him in. There is a slight resistance. Cole is still holding Connor’s hand.

“Cole,” Connor speaks softly. “Cole, you have to let go.”

“I can’t.” Cole shakes his head and tugs Connor’s hand. Tears fill his eyes. The small rift, barely big enough to fit Cole, begins to stretch.

In a tangle of limbs, both Cole and Connor fall over. Cole is finally able to let go of Connor’s hand. Hank holds Cole tighter. He can feel the warmth of his son. He’s real. When Hank tears his attention away from him, he stares at Connor.

Connor looks at him with panicked eyes.

He’s real too.


End file.
